Blessed is She
by TheVakarianAngel
Summary: The Breach echoed with a thousand angry voices - a horrendous choir of those dead, dying or simply mad. It needed to be shut, as a stream of unwilling spirits found themselves thrust into the mortal world, twisted into demons. Its dark power drew the Maker's sight to one: a woman who walked out of the Fade not as a darkspawn, but as a vanguard of the light.
1. I-I

**.: BLESSED IS SHE :.**

* * *

_For she shall stand before the betrayer, his might unflinching_

_And in that moment of wanton despair, she will find the Maker's light_

_A blazing mark upon her hand, unable to be sundered_

_Blessed is she, who unknowingly walks in the Maker's sight_

_For He turned His gaze upon her, and whispered to her heart_

_"__Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow."_

‡

She had not expected a dragon to rear its ugly head, though at first she hadn't even been sure it was a dragon. Fire as red as blood had rained down from the sky as she finished turning the catapult, and then a figure slowly emerged in the shimmering flames. Ravene faltered, taking a step back and clinging desperately to her staff as she glanced back at three with her.

"Go!" She ordered, leaving no room to argue. They ran, probably expecting her to be right behind. Ravene however, stayed. She had told the others she would see this through, and she planned to keep her word.

If anything, she could at least prove a mage could keep a promise.

Then the figure walked through the terrible fire and became a man – or what was left of one. He was a creature: a long, gangly thing with stretched flesh and armour fused into his mutant body. Red lyrium, like that she had seen sprouting up all over the Hinterlands and Storm Coast, was protruding from his face, like some sort of crest. His eyes told her far too much about him, he had little regard for life and even less for her.

Thief, heretic, traitor – a mage that stood against his infernal plight, that's what she was to him. Ravene honestly had never seen a darkspawn, and this thing, this Elder One - Corypheus, was her first. They glared at each other with equal disgust, though for different reasons.

His dragon snarled as it landed, its wings torn and split. Its body was like his, diseased and malformed, the beast looked pained as it encroached, spewing spit as it snapped its jaws near her. He spoke to her, arrogant and condescending, hateful yet full of twisted purpose. Ravene found herself almost inspired by his zealous belief, but its corrupt nature through her off.

She had saved the Templars, a move he had not expected and they had valiantly helped fend off his first wave of Venatori and rebel mages. This was the third time she had stood in the Elder One's way, and he wanted to correct that.

"Abomination." She spat, as he tried to pull the mark from her hand – something he called the Anchor.

"_Pretender_." His retort was as hateful as ever, and as the brand refused his purge he hurried forward faster than she gave him credit for. He told her how she stole it, his creation and tool. Now it was permanent and she smiled, Ravene actually smiled at Corypheus. It was snide and rude and absolutely wondrous. His response was priceless. More insults, and then he tossed her away.

As her back hit the trebuchet, she realized he was far stronger then he appeared. She stifled her groan as she got to feet, snatching a sword and pointing it towards him. A glorious end to an otherwise uneventful life, Ravene stood as she imagined a heroine captured in a mural would. Long crimson hair flowing in the harsh Frostback winds, eyes crackling with magical potential – Vivienne would've been proud of her magnetic prowess.

"_You will die_."

And in the distance, a fiery arrow shot into the sky.

Ravene's infuriating smile returned, "Not today."

‡

The first avalanche had been a sight to see, watching as the Elder One's forces were obliterated by a raging wave of ice and snow. In a defiant move the Herald of Andraste has not only given her small force a moment of reprieve, but she had delivered them hope in a time of need. Single action had evened the playing field, an admirable move.

The second avalanche, everyone found – had a distinctly different feel. It was larger, carrying rock and tree with it as it careened down the mountainside. What remained of the Inquisition watched as a brave, red-haired mage stood against an Archdemon and madman. Then as the tidal wave of debris reached them, the dragon fled and the snow consumed her, snuffing out that magnificent light that had bound them all together in darkness.

Ravene was gone.


	2. I-II

**.: BLESSED IS SHE :.**

* * *

Ravene was slow to awaken from her tumble, a terrifying drop through an open mineshaft. She had no idea where it came from, or why she had never seen it before – but it had saved her life. Her head throbbed, and as she sat up, she gently reached for the wound. Blood now stained her leather gloves, and she frown as she rubbed it between her fingers and thumb.

Wet enough to stick to her hand, yet too dry to run. The gash on her forehead was healing, and had probably been doing so for a while. She stumbled to her feet, sharply hissing a foul curse as her leg rang with pain. It was cold and dark around her, what little light was here, glistened off the icy walls and wet rock. Faded and worn cobblestones marked her path – apparently this mineshaft had once connected to something bigger.

Ravene wondered briefly, if somehow this was connected to the now devastated Temple of Sacred Ashes. Its stonework was somewhat similar, though it had paid a price against the terrible weather and climate of the Frostbacks. She felt very alone in the corridor, it seemed longer and unnecessarily eerie as she limped along, wincing every once in a while. She hurried best she could, pausing only when the hallway opened up to a somewhat larger room, with demons investigate the surroundings.

They were a mix of creatures, terrifying in appearance, their forms constantly shifting and changing – like the Fade. Some had hands ending in fearsome talons while others seemed to lack any true physically and simply drifted around, leaving trails of green in the air.

But the one that truly made her worry was the being of pure fire. Its body was a bubbling mass of lava, its exterior only briefly forming a blackened carapace of hardened skin. Its eyes burned brighter than the rest, oozing white hot magma that would only turn sizzling orange when it hit the ground.

Then it turned its gaze upon her, and while rage demons were comparably simple in accordance to other beings of the Fade, it didn't take a mastermind to realize that the supposed Herald of Andraste was both wounded and unarmed. It bellowed some sort of cry and the spirits around it rushed at her, two shades closing in fast.

While fire did little against the rage monster, it still worked quite well on the others. Ravene extended her arm and let loose a stream of flames, igniting the nearest shade and causing it to panic and flail. It slowed the other down, giving her enough time to concentrate and summon an explosion of fire to roar up beneath the two. Their shrieks were terrible, and they floundered as the fire broiled their ethereal flesh.

A sharp pain tore into Ravene's chest, and she staggered back, looking down at the faint green glow resonating from a small circle near her heart. It hurt, whatever energy that wraith used stung like countless bees, but it could've been worse. She scowled at the thing, and did the same to it as it had done the first shade – she lit it on fire.

The wraith panicked, skirting about on the edge of the battle as the flames tore into it.

As the shades recovered, they attacked: the first grabbing Ravene's leg and knocking her off balance. It dragged her into the larger room, ignoring her protesting kicks against its burnt chest. It had a job to do, of course – the rage demon had ordered them to subdue the mage and it would fulfill its purpose.

"Maker help me, when I get up-" Ravene's angry words were cut off as she yelped, the other shade digging it's talons into her shoulder. Her cry seemed to illicit the curiosity of the wraith, bringing it closer to investigate.

The rage creature neared then, its seething form dwarfing the shades as it rose up, lava from its body splattering down dangerously close to Ravene's already wounded leg.

Then it spoke, a simple command coming from… somewhere, Ravene didn't dare imagine where.

**_"_****_Die."_**

That was the second time someone had told her that, and she was beginning to wonder if that's all the enemy really thought about. Was she at the top of everyone's preverbal shit-list? She would've come back with some sort of snappy response, had she not been distracted by her marked hand.

It resonated with energy, enough to make Ravene's limb feel as if it was being twisted and pulled. It sparked with magic, drawing the attention of the nearest shade, which snatched her wrist and examined the anchor.

To it, the mark burned like holy fire – a radiant flaming star somehow branded in the mortal's flesh.

In that moment, when the shade curiously poked at the brand with a single talon, the wild magic ignited. Green lightning flew from the Herald's hand and cut through the fiery demon's shoulder, and continued until it smashed into the ceiling. Icicles crashed down and the tomb shook as a portal tore open: a swirling, and bleary image of the Fade on the other side.

Ravene watched awestruck as some sort of force began to pull on the spirits. The wraith was the first to go, turning into a faint wisp of green before it shot back into the portal, and then the other three began to feel the forceful tug. The shades clawed at the ground, one slipping and bursting into a dark shadow as it was sucked inside, while the other frantically tried to grab at Ravene's leg.

She gritted her teeth and kicked at the monster, nailing it squarely in the face. It screeched and floundered as it suffered the same fate as its twin.

The rage demon was stronger, initially the portal had nearly gotten it – but now it staggered towards her, ignoring how a stream of flame and magma was now being drawn into the event. Its eyes blazed even brighter as it watched her scramble back from its reach.

**_"_****_DIE!"_**

"You first," Ravene snarled and snapped her fingers. Ice flash froze around the lava monster's body, and shattered seconds afterwards, resulting in the demon being sent back to the Fade not as a whole being, but as several, frozen chunks.

The portal collapsed shortly thereafter, leaving the Herald in a dark, cold silence.

"Astounding.." She spat, irritated.

The Herald chose not to think too hard on what had just happened. It was something that could wait until she was safe, and safety didn't seem like it was coming anytime soon. Ravene hesitated when she reached the end of the tunnel gazed out at a terrible blizzard. It didn't surprise he there was a storm, seeing at how her luck was going. It seemed after she had sealed the Breach, everything had gone disastrously wrong.

Corypheus attacked, she had buried Haven in an avalanche, been mauled by demons after it felt like her arm tried to tear itself off, and then found herself standing on the cusp of a powerful winter storm. Ravene had a particular type of luck, one good enough to get her through alive, yet bad enough to lead her straight into another catastrophe.

There were few options available to her – either continue her journey and try to find the others, or stay here.

"Dead either way," she grumbled, and began her march into the storm. "Might as well walk…"

**‡**

Cullen was out searching for the Herald not by his own inclination, but that of Mother Giselle. He, like the others, had been relatively grave since Haven, but no doubt she suspected he had been hit hardest. It was his idea, after all – to bury Haven as a spiteful last stand. He imagined it as a sort of grim sending off, one last strike against the foe.

That had changed when Chancellor Roderick recalled a passage he had taken on a pilgrimage. Suddenly the last stand had turned into a ploy to escape. Ravene had sacrificed herself to save them, and he wondered why. For the past few hours, before he had gone out to search – he and the others had done nothing but bicker about what to do next.

Her sacrifice would amount to nothing because the Inquisition couldn't get its bloody act together.

If anything, this hopeless search at least gave him some time to _think. _The storm had finally let up, allowing him and the few men he had chosen to look more thoroughly.

"Not that it matters," he muttered, bitter and angry. "No one could…"

His words trailed off as he spotted something on the tree line. A bright flash: like fire before it was snuffed out by the chilling wind and snow. Cullen's eyes narrowed, it was possible that they were being tracked by Venatori, but unlikely. They had no idea where they were, and any trails to try and follow them had been obliterated.

Hand on the hilt of his sword, the Commander approached.

His eyes widened.

"Maker's breath…"

Slumped against a tree was a red-haired beauty, her left hand flickering with the faintest of strange magic. Cullen's heart soared briefly as he hurried towards her, shouting to the others in his party that he had found her. He knelt down next to her, noting how she was too pale and lips had the faintest tinge of blue to them.

"Andraste have mercy," He lifted touched her chin and lifted her bowed head, peering into heavy-lidded, exhausted viridian eyes. "How long have you been out here?"

Clearly the Herald didn't recognize him at first, for she stared at him with equal parts confusion and fear. Hypothermia had made coherent thoughts near impossible, and she was shaking so violently that she could barely speak. Her stare slowly transferred to realization, and she shakily spoke.

"C-Commander?" She stammered, eyes flicking to the others as they approached. He nodded, reassuring her.

"Lady Herald."

Without a blanket or a spare cloak, he undid his own and wrapped it around her, doing his best to shield her from the terrible mountain weather. Cullen could feel her shaking as he gently picked her up; he turned quickly and headed back towards the camp nestled in a sheltered section of the snowy plains. She would've never had made it had he not found her, and they both knew that.

Cullen thought back to Mother Giselle and her advice to take a walk and look for what they had lost.

Had she known Ravene was alive, or was it just chance?

He imagined eventually, he'd find out.


	3. I-III

**.: BLESSED IS SHE :.**

* * *

Varric had been sitting in his tent for hours now, hunched over a desk, scribbling whatever came to mind on sheets of parchment. Nothing of real substance had emerged, resulting in his floor being littered with half completed scrolls that were various incarnations of rough drafts, and entire sheets that had been crossed out with thick lines of ink. He knew the cause; Varric had been unable to stop himself from recalling the terrible destruction of Haven, and abrupt death of his friend.

To cope with it, Varric had been trying to capture the scene on paper – something Solas had attributed to working through his grief. The dwarf had shrugged it off, after all – he had a fondness for tragic endings. Yet this one didn't sit right by him, in his opinion Trevelyan shouldn't have died there. She should've lived, to go on and fight something or someone bigger, in a much more grandiose setting then Haven. In Varric's mind, the death was unjust and just… well it was just poor writing.

So when Cole appeared opposite of him, oddly excited and spouting sentences like: _'She still dreams, she hasn't gone. Not yet.'_ And _'I saw her, sleeping, she's alive. She'll wake up.' _Varric was, to say the least – pleasantly surprised. He followed the strange spirit to the doorway of the tent: a flimsy leather flap tied shut by twine, and hastily made his way outside.

There, in the arms of the Commander was the Herald. Though she was wrapped in Cullen's heavy, undoubtedly warm cloak, Varric could see that she was too pale. No doubt she had ventured out into the storm that had blown through, and equally as obvious was how bad the blizzard had beaten her.

Cole manifested next to Varric again, a young man dressed in shabby clothes and a large, unusual hat.

"Can I help her?" Cole questioned, unsure and cautious. "The templar… he doesn't like me, doesn't trust me. But she does, she's my friend and I want to help."

Varric's keen gaze travelled to Cole, who steadily seemed increasingly unsure of what to do. The poor kid fidgeted and paced a little, watching helplessly on tip-toe as Cullen strode past. Cole's anxiety only grew as the Commander slipped inside a far tent, out of sight. "Knock yourself out, but you may want to go in the front door. Curly gets nervous when you just appear."

"He'll never know," Cole stated, starting towards the tent. "He won't see me, he won't remember… and she'll feel better, maybe even stop dreaming."

"Right," the dwarf gave a nervous smirk as he headed back inside. "Well, it's the thought that counts."

**‡**

Ravene's eyes were slow to open, watching groggily as the confusing dream world of the Fade dissipated. She stared weakly at the top of the tent, watching a lantern hung from the middle beam sway against the gentle breeze the canvas let in. Faintly she could smell something, the sweet scent of beef, onion, carrot and broth. Her stomach rumbled as it recalled the meal, something she hadn't had since before she was carted off to the Circle.

Beef stew had been her favourite meal as a child, though not by the choice of her parents. Ravene had always played in the kitchens when she was a child, bothering the cooks and following them around. The head chef had been a plump woman by the name of Graves; she hadn't grown irritated like the others and tried to chase the young girl off. Instead, she let Ravene try all sorts of meals that normally someone of nobility would never have run into.

The Herald forced herself to sit up as the wafting smells slunk into her nostrils. Her mouth watered at the idea of having some, and Ravene found herself pleasantly surprised when she spotted a bowl near her, sitting neatly on a short, square table.

"Cole said you would want a bowl," The Commander's voice fluttered into her ears, drawing her attention away from the stew and to him. He sat relatively far from her, near the door of the tent. "Don't ask me why, I don't know."

Ravene watched him curiously, he seemed uneasy. "Is something the matter?"

If there was something bothering Cullen, he didn't share it. Politely he shook his head and let a friendly smile appear on his face. "Not at all, I'm relieved to see you awake… you've been asleep for almost a day."

The Herald slowly reached for the meal, snatching the spoon as she brought the bowl into her lap. The scent was stronger now, carried by the quickly rising steam and heat from the food nestled against her. Tentatively she tried it, letting the delicious flavours wash over her tongue before she swallowed.

"It's quite good," Ravene smiled, "I haven't had something like this in a long time."

Cullen nodded, her appetite reassured him. "It's one of the better meals we've had in the last little while, I'll admit… though Vivienne didn't approve of it, to say the least."

The Herald chuckled a little at the thought, the proud Madam de Fer sitting down and enjoying the stew was quite the image. She could see Vivienne's face contorting into all sorts of disapproving scowls, varying from disgusting to abhorrence. She wondered if the First Enchantress had even dared to try it, or had simply turned her nose up at it at first glance.

"That's a shame," Ravene replied after a small spoon full of fantastic soup. Really she just wanted to drain the bowl; only the fear of appearing less 'Herald-y' kept her under control, and years of being nobility. "It's really good."

"The others will want to see you, now that you're awake." Cullen stated, bowing his head politely before he stood and walked for the door.

"Wait."

The Commander paused, his back to her longer then she liked. Slowly he turned, half facing her, his smile gone and replaced with his usual stoic display. "Yes?"

"Thank you," she spoke, her tone sincere. "I remember you finding me – and what you did, so thank you." Her eyes briefly fell to her almost empty bowl and then back to him. "I can say with confidence I would be dead if you hadn't found me."

Cullen didn't know what to say to the thank you, as it hadn't been his idea to search for her. He had written her off as dead, but didn't have the heart to tell her. He stood there, gazing at her longer then he should've, trying to come up with an answer.

When none came, he simply nodded to her and took his leave.

Ravene wondered if she had said something wrong.


	4. I-IV

**.: BLESSED IS SHE :.**

* * *

"I cannot believe you let him see you like that," Vivienne's tone was rather disapproving, like an elder sister scolding the younger. She had promptly barged into the tent about an hour earlier, apparently to rescue the Herald from her own appearance. "Honestly Trevelyan, appearances do mean something – haven't I taught you that yet?"

Ravene didn't really understand the issue, she probably hadn't looked her finest when Cullen had carried back to camp – so what did it matter if he saw her looking less than sublime when she woke? Still, of all the people she had met, she somehow felt closest with the Court Enchantress. Right now, Vivienne was coolly running a brush through the Herald's deep red hair, and had been noting that the vivid colour added a sort of flare to the mage that many in the world apparently didn't have.

Ravene had decided it was nonsense, though she did appreciate the compliment.

"I don't see the problem," Ravene admitted, wincing a little as Vivienne began to braid her hair. "He found me, I'm sure I've looked worse."

The Enchantress laughed, shaking her head. "My Dear, clearly you have no idea what you looked like a few days ago. At least now you've had a warm bath and time to properly recover."

"Surely he's seen mages in worse states," The Herald frowned, "Being a templar nearly guarantees that."

Vivienne was almost finished Ravene's braid when she stopped; then leaned over and looked the woman in the eye. She saw nothing but honest naivety, something she hadn't expected from the Herald of Andraste.

"Dear," she mulled over her words carefully. "It's not just him who matters, it's the entire Inquisition. The last thing anyone remembers of Haven is a brilliant woman standing against a blighted dragon and a darkspawn sorcerer." Vivienne gentle cupped the Herald's cheek. "That is what history will remember, never do the tales speak of the in between – people will only ever remember those defining moments in your life."

"They will remember you crawled out of the Fade, saved by the golden spirit of Andraste. They will sing songs at how you saved the Templar Order from the envy demon and red lyrium corruption, despite your adversity towards them. And after your stand at Haven, they will spread tales of how you came back from the dead, carried back to them in the arms of none other than a templar."

Ravene's confusion on the subject faded. "You're saying I have to look my best all the time in case I make history."

"Precisely."

"Maker, that sounds like a hassle."

Vivienne chuckled softly at the remark and finished her braid. "One that is entirely worth it, my Dear… once you get into the habit, you'll find it easier."

**‡**

Not that she would ever admit it, but the Herald actually felt rather spectacular after Vivienne had helped her look her best. Her hair was in a neat, long braid that she had draped over right shoulder and she wore well-crafted leather and heavier cloths to ward off the cold. According to Dorian, she looked quite splendid, capturing the role of Herald of Andraste well. He had also quickly caught on that Ravene's new look was designed by Vivienne, as before the Herald had looked a little more battle ready and warrior-like and not as 'noble adventurer.'

Ravene had decided that as long as it kept her warm, she didn't really care. Eventually she would go back to her normal get-up, but right now it was being mended and improved to fight against the cold.

She stepped outside the tent, night having fallen once again. Cassandra had requested her presence so they could properly plan what their next move was, but instead Ravene decided to wander the camp.

What she saw was disheartening.

Despite her against-all-odds survival and recovery, the moral of the Inquisition was astoundingly low. It seemed the news of Corypheus's forces spreading across Fereldan and Orlais unchecked had kicked them in the teeth. The templar forces were making the small mage population in her army nervous, causing them to bicker with one another. The regular Inquisition forces were wavering under no guidance; they didn't know what to do. Even her friends, those she had personally recruited and fought with didn't know what to do. Cole and Dorian were tending to Chancellor Roderick, who had taken a turn for the worst. Vivienne had relegated herself to either her lavish tent or the chantry hut that had been built. Solas and Varric still debated with each other, but clearly their tempers were strained, and the Iron Bull had ceased his flirting with most of the populace of the Inquisition. Blackwall kept to himself, even more than usual.

And Sera? Well the Herald couldn't even recall seeing the woman, the only evidence that Sera was still around at all were the rude drawings appearing in the oddest of places.

And as Ravene came around a corner, she stopped and let a frustrated scowl mark her face.

Cassandra, Leliana, Cullen and Josephine were all bickering. They spat blame at one another and themselves, trying their best to be civil but failing miserably. Josephine was attempting to be mediator, but she was failing.

"Ah, you spotted them then." Dorian moved up beside Ravene, his arms crossed and his head tilted. "They've been at it for hours."

Ravene glanced at him, surprised. "Really?"

"Oh yes, and let me tell you – it's done wonders for moral, do us a favour and slap some sense into them. I'm tired of hearing them squabble." Dorian's snide comment almost made Ravene laugh.

"Herald," Mother Giselle drew her attention away from her friend. "May I speak with you, for a moment?"

Ravene looked at Dorian, who politely took his leave and wandered off. She walked towards Giselle, joining her by the fire's light.

"I am happy to see you well." The older woman smiled graciously. "I must confess; I was worried that the avalanche had claimed you as one of its many victims."

The Herald smiled faintly. "I'm hard to kill."

"Hm, it would appear so. You walk out of the Fade, and then survive a terrible blizzard."

As the group before them raised their voices, Ravene and Giselle quieted down. The Revered Mother glanced at her companion, seeing the young woman's discontent with what was happening. She didn't like seeing her friends argue, least of all with each other. They watched as the small group disbanded, having given up on even speaking with one another.

"Dorian said they've been at it for hours." Ravene sat down on a nearby stole, eyes flicking between people in no particular order.

"Corypheus struck a terrible blow," Giselle consoled, watching the four. "The people do not know what to make of the Inquisition anymore, nor you."

"Me?" Ravene looked at the holy woman in confusion.

"Many watched you stand against Corypheus and fall, yet here you are."

Vivienne had said something similar earlier, Ravene grimaced at the notion. "I didn't die, there's no magic in my survival, no divine resurrection."

"Perhaps not, but the people, they know what they saw."

The Herald scoffed at the idea, if only they knew that her apparently divine rebirth had been nothing more than an old, demon-infested mineshaft.

It was hard for Giselle to see the Herald so disheartened. She had no real words to comfort the woman, nothing that would suddenly inspire and give hope to the remarkable mage. Instead, she stood in silence for a long moment, thinking about what to do. There were sermons and speeches others would give, others who were far better at them then she. Giselle had no mind for it, while she could and did give console; inspiring speeches were not her skill.

But there was another way, a method older then the Chantry itself. Song could be as soothing as a mother's calming voice and inspiring as a charismatic speech. Giselle had a talent for that, though it had been a long time since she last sung.

She quietly hoped she could still carry a tune.

Giselle's voice was quiet at first, only loud enough to garner the attention of those close. The bickering stopped, their attention drawn to the chantry woman. Her song was haunting and beautiful; her tone carried out over the snow and echoed by the mountains surrounding the Inquisition encampment. It wasn't long before others joined, Leliana the first, taking command of the second verse before Cullen joined in. Soon though, hundreds of voices were in unison, rising and falling as the song spilled from their lips.

Templars approached, led by the faithful Ser Barris whom Ravene had met at Therinfal. He and his men bowed their heads to the Herald, and slowly they knelt. They pulled their swords from their sheaths in perfect union and stabbed them into the ground, not one daring to move as Ravene watched on, dumbfounded.

Barris was the only one to raise his head, his grey eyes met the wild green of the Herald's and he spoke.

"The templars shall follow you, wherever this journey takes you Herald. Where you require a sword, we shall be it, and if you need a shield – know that you have many." His vow was frighteningly serious, and it was one that Ravene never thought she hear uttered to a mage. "You gave us an alliance, and we will be worthy of it."

**‡**

Solas watched from the shadows, his voice did not carry with the many who were singing. He observed as the soldiers knelt before Herald, a woman who thought herself ordinary – and he too, besides the anchor, thought her nothing singular. She was a mage, born into nobility and then given to the Circle at a young age. In all accounts she was common, not the strongest wizard, nor a fledgling witch. Though as Solas watched Ravene realize the power she now had, he began to see her in a slightly different light.

Questions began to run through his head as the song faded and the soldiers rose.

Why would such a powerful form of magic brand itself to her?

What made Lady Trevelyan worthy?


	5. II-I

**.: BLESSED IS SHE :.**

* * *

_And so she stood before them, a myriad of loyal hearts_

_They cheered and sang, their voices reaching into the heavens_

_And He heard them, a dazzling chorus of determined light_

_Blessed is she, who rallies the faithful_

_For she turned His gaze upon them, and He saw what His children wrought_

_Beauty unparalleled, defiant souls standing against the wicked_

_So the Maker wove into her, a promise as pure as she_

_"__Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."_

**‡**

A fortress nestled near a mountain top: a defensible and sensible solution to the Inquisition's problem. Its dark stone stood out in sharp contrast to the snow that danced around it, casting the structure in an eerie white drift that made it seem like it had been torn from Legend. Time had done little too it, most of its wound superficial and easily fixable.

A safe haven - one which the Elder One would dare not touch. His evil power meant little to this sanctuary, it had stood against worse, and it would do so long after the Inquisition was gone. In its stone was myth, tales so old that they were lost to all but the spirits of the Fade, who still wandered it in the dream world.

Its countless names were gone and lost, taken by time and the wind.

Now it was known only by one.

**_Skyhold._**

Then they gave her power, power Ravene didn't want. Josephine offered her a sword, a shining blade with an ornate hilt, a gleaming crystal pommel wrapped in a golden dragon's tail. Its mouth marked the notch for the blade itself, its lips curled into a sinister snarl. It was heavy and awkward, made for show rather than combat.

But it _meant _something, and that went beyond its physical form. It was the culmination of power and leadership, something she had been unknowingly wielding since this all began at the Conclave.

"I'm a mage." Her words fell from her lips faster than she could stop them, Leliana smiled at her.

_"__We know."_

Nervously Ravene took the sword, her fingers curling around the shaft of the hilt and taking it carefully from Josephine. She knew then, that this was one of the moments Vivienne had spoken about. Suddenly the Herald felt better that she had bothered to look fine today, at least if she did something stupid like drop the sword or struggle with her words – she'd looked fantastic doing it.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, innumerable faces she didn't recognize and a few she did. Her sight lingered on Cullen, standing before them. Why wasn't he up here, with them? Did he not want to be seen standing with a mage inquisitor?

His expression was softer than usual, not quite a smile – but he knew she was looking at him.

Courage came from somewhere, rising up from the pit of her stomach to motivate her to move. She thrust the sword into the air, a triumphant visage for all before her to see. Mana ignited in her veins, and energy shot from her hand into blade, making it spark and crackle with lightning and fire.

She would strive to be the greatest mage of all.

**‡**

The Inquisitor had found Cullen sometime after her rather impromptu inauguration, wishing to confront him on exactly why he hadn't been standing up there next to her. She had naturally assumed it had something to do with her being a mage, despite all evidence before hand. Never mind he had saved her and gave counsel before this, her mind was still operating under the old ideal.

Templars did not like mages, and vice versa. So she had approached him politely, wishing to maybe quietly probe the truth from him.

What Ravene got, was a confession of guilt she had not expected.

"I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again, you have my word."

She hadn't expected such a statement from the Commander, nor one with such _feeling_. His words had been quiet but powerful, she felt as if she had been struck. Ravene stared at the man in silent surprise, taken aback by his statement.

"Cullen…" It had been the first time she ever used his name, not his rank to address him. Ravene floundered at the slip, recovering as fast as she could "_Commander… _thank you."

Then she hurried away, her pace faster than she liked.


End file.
